Her gift of song at
last began to attract attention. Strangers loitered near the Wayland
Cottage during warm, quiet evenings, and in society she was importuned
by those who had heard her before. She usually complied, for she was
training herself to sing before an audience of one who was familiar
with the best musical talent of the world. Not that she wished to
invite comparisons with this kind of talent, but merely to sing with
such simple sweetness and truth that Graydon would forget the trained
professional in the unaffected charm of the natural girl.
The manner of those who listened stimulated her hope. At the first
notes of her song all conversation ceased. Even the unappreciative
were impressed by a certain pathos, an appealing minor tone, which
touched the heart while pleasing the ear.
During the long summer that followed her first winter at Santa Barbara
the little town sank into a semi-torpid state. Strangers disappeared.
With many of the permanent residents to kill time was the main object
of languid effort. To Madge the season brought varied opportunity. The
old professor gave her much of his time. While others slept she read
and studied. The heat, tempered by the vast Pacific, was never
great, and the air had a vitality that proved a constant aid to her
controlling motive.
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